


the leaving & letting go

by unicyclehippo



Series: Blue Girls Have The Most Fun [34]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:09:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25218286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicyclehippo/pseuds/unicyclehippo
Summary: prompt: The Cobalt Soul wants Beau, but only Beau, to come and help with something. Jester really doesn't want Beau to leave her.
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett
Series: Blue Girls Have The Most Fun [34]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1824289
Comments: 1
Kudos: 101





	the leaving & letting go

She’s thinking about it, Jester realises. She’s thinking about it _very_ seriously. If she weren’t at least considering the offer, she would’ve scoffed, would’ve rolled her eyes and blown them off with some funny and rude comment, would’ve flicked her fingers into some obscene gesture maybe if she really didn’t like what was in those papers. But she isn’t. Beau is sitting at the table, thoughtful and still, save for the _taptaptap_ of her nail against her cooling mug.

‘How long?’

Oh. She’s _really_ thinking about it. About _leaving_.

Jester’s gut twists, drops, and rolls in a sickening lurch. A weird sound, half groan, half hiccup, heaves up out of her.

‘Jessie? Something wrong?’

‘Bad milk, I think,’ she whispers, pulling the excuse up carelessly for Nott. She doesn’t hear her accomplice’s _I’ll go speak to the manager_ , or see her leave the table—Jester is far too focused on Beau sat in the corner booth, and the dossier open on the table in front of her, and the blue-clad monk opposite her. She looks exactly Beau’s type, Jester notes, morose; half-elven and young, probably, her vestments showing defined abs – not _quite_ as cut as Beau’s, but definitely there – and Jester is big enough to admit that the monk is super hot and cool, with her hair shaved into a cool swirling pattern in the short dark hair. The monk leans forward, points at one of the pages, and Beau nods along with whatever she’s saying. She smiles that smile she gets when she’s on the hunt, the one that slices high on one side, and nods. Rifles through the pages, eyes darting over portraits and the neat writing. She tilts her head and Jester’s stomach lurches again, recognising that look from nights Beau had stayed up late working by candlelight or her goggles, scribbling in her notebooks and feeling out the connecting threads in her mind. She’s _interested_ in whatever this monk has brought her.

‘How would this work?’ Beau asks.

Whatever the monk says to Beau is lost in the sudden scuffle at the bar behind Jester. By the time Fjord has smoothed it over—with a not-inconsiderable amount of gold to help them forget Nott had threatened their actual life with a crossbow—Jester looks back to the table and finds Beau sitting alone, flipping through the papers. Her mug hangs crooked from the first two fingers of her other hand, forgotten half-way to drinking, as Beau thumbs, pressed into a thoughtful mould.

‘Well! I don’t think he’ll be serving anyone sour milk again,’ Nott informs her, climbing up into her seat with a prideful swagger. ‘Speaking of sour milk—you alright, Jessie?’

‘Do you think she’ll take it? The job?’

Nott leans over the table so that she can see Beau. She pulls a face, sits back into her seat. ‘I don’t know. Don’t see why not.’

‘What – she – because we’re a _team_!’

‘But she’s an Expositor now. Something she actually seems to take seriously.’

‘…I guess.’

‘If they want her to take on some super cool, super secret mission,’ Nott shrugs. ‘Sure. Why wouldn’t she take that?’

_Why wouldn’t she_?

Jester tears her eyes away from Beau. Pulls them back to her own table, to her hands folded around the glass of milk. She drinks.

Nott squawks, knocks the cup out of her hand.

* * *

‘Not crying over spoiled milk, are you?’ Beau laughs in lieu of a hello when she makes her way up to the room late that night. Her grin falls away when Jester turns to face her and she sees her seated at her desk instead of curled comfortably into bed, sees the worried curl of her tail, see the lines spilled down her cheeks from where the tears had fallen. ‘Oh shit! What hap– are you okay?’

Jester sniffs. Closes her sketchbook and sets it to the side. She fiddles with her pen a moment before setting it on top of the book. ‘Beau.’

‘Jes?’

‘I have to ask you something,’ she says, and stands. For some reason, this feels like the kind of conversation she wants to have on her feet.

Suspicion chases worry across Beau’s face; shifting her weight as though preparing for a fight, Beau nods that she’s ready. Jester sucks in a deep breath, blinks away hours-old tears. Planting herself solidly in front of her desk, Jester folds her hands behind her back and, hidden from Beau’s view, she lets her fingers curl and grip tight to the back of her chair, pressing worry into the woodwork. It creaks under the pressure.

‘Are you leaving us?’

Beau blinks. Frowns. ‘You’re crying because of that?’

‘Yeah! We’re a _team_ , Beau.’

‘Yasha used to leave all the time and she’s still part of our team. I mean, she joined a cult, so,’ Beau points out.

‘But that was _Yasha_ , that’s what she _does_! You don’t leave! You can’t leave!’

‘Whoa, you can’t tell me– ‘ Beau stops, presses her lips flat to keep her words in check. Fighting back against the instinct to bite back, she rolls her head on her neck, cracks the tension out of it, and refocuses clear blue eyes on Jester. ‘I haven’t left before, you’re right,’ she agrees. ‘But this is different. This could be really important, Jes.’

‘What is it?’

‘I…can’t tell you. It’s,’ Beau grimaces. ‘It’s a secret.’

‘Wow. _Wow_.’

‘Jes.’

Jester cuts her off with a shake of her head. ‘So, you’re leaving and you can’t even tell us why? Or where you’re going? What if you get in trouble? What if you _need_ us?’

‘Jes, I haven’t said yes yet – ‘

‘Yet,’ Jester repeats. Beau’s faintly guilty expression says everything. ‘You’re going to, aren’t you? You want to do this.’

‘I’m – I mean, _yeah_. I do. I’m an Expositor, it’s what I’ve trained for, it’s what I’m good at. Weeding out corruption ‘n all that shit.’ Beau makes her way slowly across the room toward Jester, like she’s giving Jester time to tell her no if she wants to. ‘It’ll only be for a week. Two weeks, tops.’

‘But…you’ll be gone.’

‘Yasha will sleep with you.’

‘I’m not upset about losing my roommate,’ Jester snarls. Her tail lashes angrily behind her, and again when her glare seemingly does nothing to the stoic Beau. ‘You’re going to be _gone_.’

Beau purses her lips. She lifts a hand, presses at her cuticles as she studies Jester and the space just over her shoulder with a frown. ‘Okay,’ she says. ‘So what do you want from me? You want me to stay? You want me to tell Arden no?’

‘That’s her name? _Arden_?’

Beau smirks, lifts her brows. ‘Yes.’

Jester’s cheeks flush. ‘I don’t know, I just…’

When her words trail off, heavy with confusion and upset, Beau’s frown returns more intently than before. Her regard feels cool, examining, and when she speaks again her tone is much the same.

‘If you want me to stay, I’ll stay.’

Jester jerks with surprise. The wood of the chair creaks, and cracks. It makes Jester jump and she steps away from the damaged seat, its back splintered; she brushes shaky hands off on her skirt. ‘What? But – you want to go.’

‘I do. But this?’ Beau flicks a finger from her own chest toward Jester. After a moment, she circles it to include the rest of their motley crew. ‘This whole thing we have going, teamwork and whatever, that requires shit from us. Give and take, or whatever.’

Jester considers Beau’s offer for a long moment. Surprise has given all her thoughts wings and they flutter out of reach when she tries to corral them. Eventually, stepping away from the thrilling idea of being able to stop Beau from doing anything, the idea of Beau giving her the power to do that, she says, ‘If I ask you to stay, you’ll wish you’d gone. I don’t want that. I don’t want to _stop_ you from _going_ ,’ Jester huffs, a hint of gravel, of frustration to the words. ‘I just – will miss you while you’re gone.’

The words aren’t enough for the feeling that rears up inside her at the thought. Fear is paramount—not of being alone, but of being lonely.

‘I get that.’ Beau takes a cautious step forward. She reaches over and sets a warm hand on top of Jester’s, where she is plucking at the lacy cuff of her nightshirt. ‘I know it’s not the same but I’ll answer your messages when I can. I’ll tell you as much as I can, when I can. And everything when I get back—because I _will_ get back.’ Jester nods. ‘And if you ever get nervous, or if you need to check up on me, you can scry, right?’

‘It might not work on you anymore. You’re _pretty_ strong against that stuff.’ Jester slips her hand away from Beau’s, raises it and curls it around Beau’s neck. She watches Beau’s eyes go wide for an instant before understanding hits, as Jester’s fingers drum against the glittering tattoo there.

‘Hmm. Well—here, how about this.’ Beau leans away from Jester’s touch, eyes flicking down to her hand as cool fingers graze her collar. Reaching up, Beau removes the blue ribbon from her hair and, with no hesitation, pulls a gifted throwing-blade from her belt and slices her thumb. ‘It’s fine,’ she soothes when Jester goes to argue. She presses the ribbon to it until a good portion of it is soaked in red. This, she hands to Jester. ‘Use this. I looked it up – it’s like when we had that piece of Vence’s robe. It’ll help you focus and find me.’

The silken ribbon pools into Jester’s cupped hands. The fabric is smooth and cool against her skin and maybe it’s because Beau’s hair, loose, has fallen down around her shoulders but the room smells strongly of her and the soap she uses to wash. Sweat and honey and pine.

Jester presses her thumb to the unstained end of the ribbon. ‘When do you have to go?’

Beau winces. ‘Tonight. Now. I just…came up to say goodbye to you.’

‘To everyone, you mean.’

‘Yeah, but,’ Beau’s cheeks darken. It’s barely noticeable in the low candelight. ‘Mostly you. I’d never go without saying goodbye.’ She lifts her eyes to Jester’s and the slow, sad beat of Jester’s heart kicks into a faster pace. It hammers, all of a sudden, on either side of her next just below her jaw and against the thin skin of her wrists.

‘Oh.’

‘You know what I’m saying?’

‘I think so. Is it – you wouldn’t have let everyone ask you to stay. Just me.’ Jester’s pulse just feels hot now, beating so fast she can’t even feel it kicking. She watches as Beau swallows hard and, very slowly, she nods.

‘Yeah.’

‘You’d stay? If I asked?’

Beau nods.

‘Even though you want to go?’

‘I trust you, Jes,’ Beau says simply. She waits for Jester to ask. When she doesn’t, Beau nods. Taking a step back, she runs a hand through her loose hair. Seems a little surprised to find it hanging low, because she laughs at herself and bends over to rifle through her pack for another ribbon. She goes to tie it back, but stills when Jester reaches for her.

‘Wait. Let me.’

Setting the blood-soaked ribbon carefully onto her sketchbook, Jester moves close, shuffles them both around so Beau sits on the bed and she can kneel behind her. Beau’s dark hair hangs to about between her shoulder blades, a thick curtain that disguises the undercut when it hangs like this. Beau sits patiently as Jester winds her fingers into it and begins to braid it for her. Adjusts the placement of the headband where it had shifted ever so slightly askew and coaxes tangles and knots to smooth. Eventually, the job is done and Jester sits back on her heels. Her hands fall to Beau’s shoulders. She holds her still when Beau tries to turn to face her.

‘You’ll come back?’

Beau reaches up to cover Jester’s hand with her own. ‘I promise.’

‘Okay. Okay,’ Jester agrees, even though her stomach hurts, even though the pressure inside of her chest makes her ribs creak and prick at her lungs.


End file.
